


That Friday Feuilling

by ariadneslostthread



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadneslostthread/pseuds/ariadneslostthread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly hasn't been well all week. It is Friday and it is time to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Friday Feuilling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KChan88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/gifts).



> Originally posted on tumblr.

Enjolras sighs when he claps eyes on Feuilly that night in the Musain and has to physically shake himself to control The Feeling which roars in his chest. Face pale, nose red and shivering despite the almost overwhelming heat of the crowded room. But no matter how much The Feeling demands he do something, anything, to make Feuilly feel better, Feuilly would not appreciate even the most well intended hug in the middle of the full-to-the-brim cafe so Enjolras restrains himself and assuages The Feeling with a promise that Feuilly can be thoroughly hugged in private later. 

Beside him Enjolras feels Courfeyrac shift, and glances down to see Courfeyrac do something with his phone, pocket it, and then discreetly sit on his own hands, eyes fixed on Feuilly who is now wiping his nose with a tissue and looking, if possible, more exhausted; his eyes are blearily, blinking sluggishly. Clearly if there is to be any hugging going on it would be a sandwich type affair in which Feuilly was a particularly sniffly filling. 

On his other side Combeferre sighs and mutters something Enjolras barely catches, but it sounds a little like this: “damn noble…. self-sacrificing…full of cold…probably a fever…good sense…stay home…"

Combeferre, having given Feuilly this cold in the first place, has been prone to fits of guilt this past week despite Feuilly’s own reassurances, firstly, that he’s perfectly well, and later, when it’s obvious he’s not, that he doesn’t mind. 

The Feeling makes its presence known insistently, like a tiny fist knocking on Enjolras’ ribs. He clears his throat to silence it and swiftly begins their meeting; the sooner it can be finished. There is a Plan in place. 

While he speaks first, and then the others in turn, Enjolras deliberately avoids looking at Joly or Feuilly himself. Joly has entirely failed by this point to restrain himself and Bossuet is doing a fine but none too discreet job of keeping Joly’s hands to himself via a secure, inescapable hug. Joly is beside himself with worry and squirms against Bossuet with every sneeze or sniffle Feuilly directs into a handful of tissues. 

Of all of them only Grantaire has openly acknowledged Feuilly’s cold and placed, without fanfare or comment, a fresh box of tissues on the table in front of Feuilly along with a glass of brandy, Grantaire’s chosen tipple of the evening in sympathy. Feuilly, registering this after several long minutes of blinking in confusion, merely picks up his glass and clinks it against Grantaire’s in thanks. 

It is customary that after their meetings, which often involve a greater number of their society, that the nine lieutenants and Enjolras himself will retire either to one of their apartments or a bar to continue their discussions and dissections of the meeting and the week’s progress. 

Enjolras closes the meeting with unusual relish-normally he’s so enthused he’s loathe to end them-and reaffirms the open invitation to his and Combeferre’s home. Before he’s even finished he gives half an ear to the hushed conversation taking place behind his back. 

"… obviously gotten worse." Combeferre whispers into Courfeyrac’s ear. 

"Poor bloke….looks terrible."

Enjolras leans back, seamlessly joining the conversation without looking at either of them. 

"The Plan is in place." He says, and feels two answering squeezes of his knees beneath the table. 

He catches Bossuet’s eye, who nods and whispers in Joly’s ear. Joly visibly relaxes and returns the nod turning immediately to rummage in his bag, muttering to himself or, possibly, Bossuet; it’s often difficult to tell which. 

Across the room Bahorel is strategically positioned near the door, a precaution against Feuilly somehow leaving unobserved. 

Jehan has already engaged Feuilly in conversation before he’s had the chance to slip off unnoticed.

It is time for Enjolras to act. The Feeling has ballooned in his chest during his distraction and he calms it by taking Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s hands under the table, for they still rest on his knees. Combeferre is still a little under the weather so he gets an extra squeeze as Enjolras pushes himself to his feet and appears at Jehan’s shoulder. 

"My apologies, Jehan. I didn’t mean to interrupt." A blatant lie. “Could I steal Feuilly for a moment."

This is his task; to entice Feuilly into a debate of politics he cannot resist that will tempt him to join the others back at the apartment when he might otherwise retreat home. 

It works. Feuilly is suspicious at first, though he is feverish, at Enjolras’ apparent misunderstanding of a particular policy point they both know and understand well, but nevertheless he is drawn into the debate. Combeferre and Courfeyrac aide and assist rotating around Feuilly and Enjolras as they walk, orbiting around the pair and ensuring they don’t walk into traffic or trip over curbs. Feuilly doesn’t notice that they are at the centre of the group, hemmed in on all sides as if the human barrier of bodies and friendship can protect Feuilly from the cold, right up until they reach the building Enjolras and Combeferre live in.

"Oh." Says Feuilly as they draw to a stop while Combeferre gets the key in the lock to the door on the street. “I had meant to go home."

"Come inside for a little while Feuilly. Warm up before venturing out again. It is Friday after all." Enjolras says with a firm hand on Feuilly’s elbow. 

Feuilly nods and wearily agrees. “Alright. But I’m not sure how good company I’ll be." 

They troop up the stairs after Combeferre who then unlocks the apartment door and holds it open for Feuilly. 

"What…What’s this?" Feuilly says, confused as he takes in his friends’ living room, now transformed into some sort of bedding paradise. The sofa has been completely consumed by duvets. 

"Your nest for the weekend!" Courfeyrac says, bounding into the room and kicking off his shoes and he burrows into the squashy sofa, then opens his arms out, awaiting someone to join him for a cuddle. 

"We thought you might need a bit of looking after with that cold of yours." Combeferre says quietly, resting a hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. 

Feuilly gapes at him, not only because he must breathe through his mouth as his nose is stuffed. 

"It is Friday." Enjolras reiterates. “No work for anyone all weekend."

This is important. Feuilly has been ill all week but insisted on working through it; he cannot afford time off, despite attempts from the others to stay home and rest. 

"Yes…but…"

"Here!" Courfeyrac lobs something at Enjolras who catches it deftly. The Feeling is purring inside him now, so close to being indulged and wrapping Feuilly in blankets and friends and having them all safe inside his apartment for an entire weekend. 

Enjolras unfolds the bundle and presses it into Feuilly’s hands. 

He looks down and frowns, thoroughly baffled. “But… these are bide."

"Mmmhmm." Jehan says, appearing at Feuilly’s other side. 

"Is this why you appeared so early this bording?" He asks looking incredulously at Jehan. “To steal my pajabas?"

Jehan nods. “We thought you might be more comfortable in your own. It’s just…we all fit here. .."

"We can take you home if you’d prefer." Enjolras says softly, ignoring the sharp, painful dig The Feeling gives him. 

Feuilly shakes his head shyly and with a sniff that causes The Feeling to erupt so strongly in Enjolras’ chest it radiates down to his fingertips and he has to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from flinging his arms around Feuilly and squeezing. 

Patience, Rationality warns The Feeling. 

Feuilly turns to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Add you. ..that discussiod was just a ruse…"

Enjolras nods sheepishly. 

Feuilly turns back to the nest and Courfeyrac who is wriggling in the middle of it impatiently. 

"You all planded this? For be?"

There is a chorus of nods and affirmations. 

"Thaddk you." Feuilly says thickly. 

"You’ll stay?" Enjolras asks apprehensively. 

Feuilly nods, swallowing with a small wince, and Enjolras beams happily. 

"Well then." Combeferre says stepping forward and resting a hand on Feuilly’s brow. “You’d best get changed and into bed before that fever gets any higher."

"And let Joly take a look at you, before he has an aneurysm." Bossuet calls, manhandling Joly onto the sofa where he is promptly seized, and kissed heartily on the cheek, by an overexcited Courfeyrac. Feuilly nods, looking at Joly fondly as the man practically vibrates with the need to doctor.

Enjolras leads Feuilly over to the bathroom to change. Feuilly pauses in the door to the bathroom as Enjolras turns to re-join the rest of them in the bedding explosion. 

"This was your idea?" He asks quietly. 

Enjolras doesn’t reply but the flush just visible creeping over his collar bones beneath the open collar of his shirt does so for him. 

"Thadk you." Feuilly whispers. “Really."

Enjolras looks down and shakes his head. “Combeferre was worried and Joly…well…"

"Is Joly." Feuilly says and they laugh quietly, but so fondly. 

"I was worried." Enjolras says, ducking his head. 

Feuilly smiles and thanks him again, pressing Enjolras’ arm, watching with a smile as the flush begins to spread up and over the edge of his jaw. The Feeling is dancing a jig inside Enjolras and it makes him fidget.

“Edjolras?” He asks, mangling his name. 

“I…um…” Enjolras says, one hand coming up to ruffle the curls at the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment before quickly wrapping his arms around Feuilly, squeezing him gently and then dashes away to the kitchen, Combeferre in tow, while Feuilly chuckles in bemusement.

 

Ten minutes later and Feuilly has been firmly ensconced in the very centre of the custom made nest. 

There is a thermometer tucked under his tongue, and he is tucked under Bahorel’s arm, with Courfeyrac in turn tucked under his, and Jehan in turn, tucked under Courfeyrac’s. Joly is squeezed between Feuilly and Bahorel’s legs, practically in their laps, waiting for the thermometer to take his temperature. 

Bossuet and Grantaire are slumped companionably against each other on the floor, leaning back against the sofa where Feuilly’s legs would be if they were not tucked underneath him. 

Marius is fiddling with the TV and Enjolras is off in the kitchen making soup for all, wisely and necessarily supervised by Combeferre.

Feuilly might feel horrible, with a nasty temperature and sore throat as Joly pronounces, but for the first time that week, Feuilly feels warm.


End file.
